Harley dropped down onto the bed, more from exhaustion than anything else. The last forty eight hours had been a blur, and she hadn't slept much. He didn't speak when he came in, just took of his shoes and his jacket, and then perched at the table in the corner, pouring over blue prints from his latest conquest. Harley didn't have the strength to speak; to question him. She didn't dare to bring up the argument that had separated them, or to mention Poison Ivy. She needn't have worried though, because before long she didn't need to. She'd fallen asleep.
She woke to the feel of his fingers dancing on her cheek. Through sleepy eyes, she smiled, realising that he had pulled the covers up around her as she'd slept. He laid beside her, resting on his elbow and watching her.
"You know it's not about the socks," he said, his lips smacking and his tongue darting out nervously. Harley wriggled and freed her own hand, bringing it to rest on top of his.
"I did wonder," she murmured, turning her head to lightly kiss his fingers. "So what's it about, Jack?"
He didn't say anything for a while, just kept stroking her face with a gentleness only she knew he possessed. Then, at last, he spoke.
"You've always come back before," he said, his black painted eyes narrowed in suspicion. Harley felt her body stiffen. She'd remembered who he was, and in that moment all of her self control came flooding back. She needed to control who she was around him, otherwise she could say something that could make him snap. She had a brief flashback to her days at Arkham; what would the old her of thought of this new Harleen? Was she being smart, or was she a victim? She loved him, but if he didn't love her surely she might as well have been a white trash mother of six on the receiving end of a drunken wife beater's temper. Why did she justify what she was doing with him, but she would never have entertained the idea if it was anyone else.
Carefully, very carefully, she reminded him; "We've never had a fight that big before."
There was silence. Slowly, Harley pushed herself up to a sitting position which he mirrored. The knife had appeared in his hand again, and he twirled it around like a tiny baton. Harley watched it, wary but calm.
"You know… you can't throw me out on the street these days. I may not be as wanted as you, but they still want me off the streets. I gave up my old life, Jack. Ours are intertwined now."
All of a sudden, the air became cold. Harley found herself crushed against the metal bed stead, the cold steel of his knife against her bottom lip and the full weight of his body pressed against hers.
"I didn't ask for you," he spat, watching her gasp for breath. He held back after a while; he didn't want to actually suffocate her. Soon, Harley's breathing went back to normal, and she was able to speak.
"I know you didn't," she whispered. "But you wanted me to come, didn't you?" He didn't answer, and the blade still pressed against her skin. Harley fought back a sob. "Come on baby, I need some reassurance here. Just tell me you want me… you came after me, that's gotta mean something, right?"
"I didn't come because I want you," he muttered, pushing away from her and stalking over to the other side of the room. Harley slumped against the head board, massaging her chest where his arm had bruised her. He kept mumbling, but she couldn't hear what he was saying. Eventually, he turned back to her. Harley watched him fearfully as he approached the bed. She could hear him now.
"I don't get what I need, I get what I want," he said, his hands painting a picture in the air. "What I want is a new Gotham, a new world full of chaos and destruction, because chaos is fair. I want to see governments fall and cities burn, so that all that's left are embers, embers that glow and grow into something different. That is what I want, but I haven't got it. Instead, I've got you. I wanted to get rid of you, I wanted you gone and you were. I didn't want you back but I needed – I needed you here. I don't want to need things, why do I need you Harley, huh? Why do I need you?" Harley's eyes were wide, and she couldn't speak. She didn't know what to say. His face was animated; his eyes more alive than she had ever seen them. She shuddered when his voice changed, when it became inhuman, almost like a bark or a roar. He sat down on the bed and reached out, grabbing hold of her with one arm and pulling her close to him. His spare hand curled around the fabric of her shirt and tore it away. Harley gasped, and tried desperately not to squeal. Her bra was exposed, and he ran his rough fingers over the silvery 'J' engraved on her breast.
"So perfectly broken," he mumbled, his eyes raking over her entire body. "So small, so easy to snap," his hands had come to rest on her neck, and Harley felt herself swallow heavily. "But I can't, because if I did, I wouldn't be able to have you. And I need you. Why do I need you?" his grip loosened, and his fingers returned to the 'J'. He traced the letter, then lowered his head and pressed a warm kiss to her skin. Harley felt herself melt, but she was more frightened than she had ever been around him.
"Gordon offered me a trade," she whispered. "Your whereabouts for my life back, as it was." He didn't raise his head, but he was still so she knew he was listening. She ran cautious fingers through his hair. "I would never have told him, because although sometimes I want my old life back, I don't need it. I need you, Jack, and that doesn't make me weaker than I was before. I think it makes me stronger."
Still he didn't look up, but Harley kept playing with his hair, for it often soothed him. She became aware of his kisses, over and over on the scar he'd made. His hands snaked up to her shoulders and pulled at what was left of her torn shirt which came away with ease. She smiled as he pulled her bra strap down over her shoulder, and she arched her back a little to allow him to undo the clasp behind her.
His lips left her breast and began to make a trail to her neck, kissing along her throat and all along her jaw. Harley grabbed a fist full of his hair and pulled his head up, forcing him to look at her at last.
"Tell me you need me," she said, gazing into his eyes. He looked even more afraid than she was when he answered;
"I need you," Harley didn't wait for anything else, and smashed her lips against his with all the force she had. For a moment, it seemed he wasn't going to respond but then he took hold of either side of her head and pushed her down onto the bed, their lips never breaking contact. Harley tore at the buttons of his vest and he wrenched open her jeans.
His fingers groped at her clumsily, but Harley could wait for him to calm down enough to focus on what he was doing. She'd gotten his vest off and tugged at his tie, loosening it quickly and unbuttoning his shirt until finally she was able to run her nails over the smooth skin beneath. He had scars from a life full of beatings, but the skin of his chest was clear enough. Harley bent her head to press kisses onto his skin, and as she did his furious onslaught on her slowed. Harley gasped when his aim suddenly hit the spot and his fingers were inside her in the best way. His thumb rubbed her in expert circles, and for a moment she forgot everything that had happened and moaned in delight, lifting her hips to get closer to his touch.
Harley whimpered in protest when his hand left her underwear, but she smiled when she felt the insisted tug of her jeans being pulled down over her hips. She did her best to help the situation and wriggled out of them, shivering from the sudden rush of cold when she realised her underwear had gone too. He soon warmed her up, and Harley opened her eyes to see his above her. She reached up and held his face with her hands, smirking when his makeup smudged under her fingers. She knew she must have plenty of it on her face already.
"You're so beautiful," she murmured, as he playfully bit her nose. His eyes flew down, taking a sudden great interest in the fabric of her underwear. If his cheeks hadn't been covered in makeup, she would have seen he was blushing.
"No I'm not," he replied, his eyes closing and lips lingering on that last letter.
Harley sighed, knowing he had never believed her when she'd told him she found him attractive. She forced his head up a little – gently, of course – but she couldn't force his eyes. "Hey," she prompted, trying to find her way into his line of vision. "You might not believe it baby, but that doesn't mean it's not true. I didn't believe in miracles until I saw you standing in that doorway." She fought back a chuckle as she prepared to tease him; "Don'tcha wanna tell me I'm beautiful Mr J?"
Finally, he looked into her eyes. She stopped laughing. She felt him between her legs; somehow his pants had gone along with his shirt and tie, but she couldn't remember taking them off. She waited for him to say something, but after such a long silence she wondered if he ever would. Then he caught her off guard.
He thrust inside her with such force that she thought she was going to split in two; she cried out in surprise and ecstasy, and she gasped when she felt him grab hold of her hair roughly and pull her face down to look at him, she was panting, and she felt sweat running down her forehead.
"Now you're beautiful," he hissed.
